


Starbucks

by BDBriggs



Category: No Fandom
Genre: M/M, it's got ryan haywood in it so if you're new don't read it but if you want to reminisce it's here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22941220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BDBriggs/pseuds/BDBriggs
Summary: IMPORTANT:I wrote this before Ryan’s ugly parting from the company. I don’t condone what he’s done, at all, whatsoever, but I don’t want to erase the works I’ve created because of his poor choices. Please avoid this if you don't want to read anything with him in it.***Gavin has a thing for the Vagabond.Michael's unsure of their history as well as their current 'status' or whatever, but he's sure as hell interested in some answers. Gavin remains interested in selfies. These two interests are surprisingly entwined.
Comments: 73
Kudos: 162





	1. Pizza Guy

**Author's Note:**

> REMEMBER I HOW MENTIONED A SEQUEL LIKE SIX MONTHS AGO??? AND THEN WROTE FOUR OTHER FICS INSTEAD???
> 
> MY BAD. 
> 
> Updates every Friday! I can't wait to share what I have in store. This is going to be a fun ride! =D

“So how did you and the Vagabond get to be snapchat friends?” Geoff asks casually.

At least, Michael thinks he _aimed_ for casual. In truth, he sounds way too interested in the prospect of finally getting some answers to manage _casual_, so it comes out sounding rather desperate instead.

Gavin pauses partway through reloading his gun. “Is this really the best time?” He asks, brows raised.

And no, it’s really not the best time. They’re in the middle of a heist, Jack driving the four of them in the heist vehicle with all the grace of a raging bull. They’ve taken out six light posts in the last two minutes. Ray’s up above them in a cargobob, trying desperately to grab them with the hook, and so far he’s hooked three police cars instead. Surrounded on all sides by utter chaos and confusion, it’s not an ideal time for important conversations.

But Gavin’s been avoiding the topic of the Vagabond ever since the incident in the kitchen. He looks extremely uncomfortable every time the assassin’s name gets brought up. He’s even changed the subject away from the Vagabond several times. And so far, the crew has given him his space, mostly because they _did_ kind of accidently out Gavin. Curiosity is quickly winning out, though, and it’s a miracle they’ve held out this long without substantial answers.

“Is there a better time?” Geoff asks, _challenges_ really.

Gavin sighs and finishes reloading to lean out the window of the heist-mobile and shoot a cop car that had been gaining on them. Michael leans out his window to do the same, screaming expletives at the LSPD as he does.

“I asked him for his snapchat,” Gavin says at last, yelling to be heard over the wind.

Michael resists the urge to facepalm, mostly because he needs both of his hands to shoot his rifle properly and _not shooting_ would probably get him killed right now. That is _absolutely_ not an answer, and Gavin knows that. The little _shit_.

“Okay,” Geoff says, somehow infinitely more patient than Michael, “and what were the circumstances in which you _asked the fucking Vagabond for his snapchat?!” _

So maybe Michael was wrong about the patience thing.

Gavin laughs, whooping as Ray manages to hook yet another cop car. Ray swears colorfully over comms, lifting the offending vehicle and releasing it on top of a nearby building. Why they decided to have _Ray_ of all people pilot the cargobob, Michael doesn’t know, although he’s grateful for Jack’s driving. If Geoff or Gavin had been driving, they’d all be long dead.

“I wanted to send him a selfie!” Gavin says, still laughing. “But I couldn’t get it to go through to his phone!”

Michael chucks a grenade behind them and ducks back inside as it explodes, shrapnel peppering the back of the heist-mobile. “Why were you sending him a selfie in the first place?” He demands.

Gavin slides back inside to reload and grin at him. “It’s actually a pretty funny story,” he says. “It was _years_ ago…”

* * *

Gavin frowns at the lock he’s trying to pick. It’s being incredibly stubborn and he can’t quite figure out _why_. He wiggles his pick a bit, trying to feel if it’s stuck or not. He’d _really_ rather not kick the door in and alert his target, or any of the neighbors, but at this point he’s pretty close to kicking it out of sheer frustration. After a few more minutes of fucking with the lock, he gives up and pockets his tools. There’s _got_ to be a window he can use instead. The damn door just isn’t worth it.

This kind of thing doesn’t usually happen to him. He’s _good_ at picking locks, and he does his research. Having watched through the window on the other side of his target’s apartment, he knows his target _never_ uses any lock other than the damn key lock. The door has two additional locks, but neither ever got used while he watched. Apparently his target decided to switch things up the night Gavin goes after her.

It’s damn _bullshit_, is what it is.

Gavin heads back outside and over to the fire escape at the back of the building. He’ll have to do a little bit of climbing, but there’s a small bathroom window above the shower that his target often leaves open to let the steam out. With a little luck, he’ll be able to shimmy through it. With a _lot_ of luck, he’ll be able to do it without being heard.

It seems luck is on his side, he notes, because he hears music as he gets over to the window. Not only is it partly open, his target is playing _music_. Beautiful, beautiful music, just loud enough to cover the sounds of his entrance. Gavin wiggles his way inside, taking care not to leave footprints in the shower. Once inside, he pulls his gun from his waistband and peeks around the door.

He searches the living room and kitchen first, staying low and out of sight of the windows. There’s pizza in the oven, just a few minutes from being done. A purse lies on the counter, which Gavin roots through and pockets the change from. A quick glance at the wallet inside confirms the purse belongs to his target. He smirks. She won’t miss the change.

His target seems to be in the bedroom. The music is coming from there as well, he notes, and he creeps quietly down the hallway. The bedroom door is closed, so he has no way of knowing where she is. The music is too loud for him to hear anything useful, too. Gavin scrunches up his nose. It looks like he’ll have to bust in and shoot and just hope for the best. It’s too risky to open the door slowly. Gavin takes a deep breath, stands up, and kicks the door in. He spies his target, shoots once, the music covering the noise even better than his suppressor. He blinks, and shoots again, because _holy shit_. His target was not alone.

Gavin slaps his forehead, _hard_. He’s watched his target for two months. He’s been documenting her routine, the places she frequents, her friends, where she eats, and he’d struck on a night where he knew she’d be home, knew she’d be in her living room browsing Netflix, _like she does every Sunday night_. But no, of _course_ she’d shaken up her routine for the first time since he began watching. No wonder she’d used the extra locks on the door.

She’d brought a _partner_ over.

And of course Gavin burst into her bedroom to find her _going at it_ with some guy. Gavin tucks his pistol into his waistband and buries his face in his hands. The _last_ thing he wants to deal with is disposing of two naked bodies, one balls-deep in the other.

What the hell is his life right now?

The oven timer beeps shrilly, startling him. He briefly contemplates leaving it on and letting the whole apartment building burn down, but there’s too much risk of the bodies being discovered. No, he needs to turn off the damn oven and take the stupid pizza out and dispose of two _bloody naked bodies_.

With a heavy sigh, Gavin turns around and trudges into the kitchen to take the pizza out. It’s meat lover’s pizza, with extra cheese sprinkled on top, and he spares a moment to think that Ryan would _love_ this pizza.

He pauses.

_Ryan would love this pizza. _

Gavin gets his phone out and taps out a message before he can talk himself out of it.

**Gavin**: How does meat lover’s pizza sound?

**Ryan**: I take it tonight’s job went well and we’re celebrating with the extra cash?

**Gavin**: Oh god no. It went horrible. I need help. There’s pizza involved, though, get here before it gets cold.

**Ryan**: Omw. I expect an explanation. Door? Window?

**Gavin**: Door

Gavin fishes around for plates and utensils before cutting the pizza, placing two oversized slices on each plate. A quick look in the fridge reveals his target is a no-good Pepsi drinker. He scrunches his nose. _That_ won’t do. Ryan will just have to go without, he laments.

He heads back into the bedroom to turn off the music, wondering how exactly he’s going to explain his predicament to Ryan. At first he takes a picture of the scene, but it just feels wrong and _dirty_, so he deletes it. Maybe a selfie would be less gross? So he takes a selfie with the dead couple partly visible in the background, his head blocking the naughty bits, and sends it to Ryan with a frowny face caption.

Music successfully turned off, he heads back into the kitchen. There’s a fifty-fifty chance Ryan will either turn around and leave when he sees the picture, or he’ll show up and just complain the whole time. That’s what the pizza is for, though, he thinks with a smirk. He’s long since discovered that the way into Ryan’s heart is through his stomach.

Gavin only waits five minutes before Ryan knocks softly on the door, and he has to undo the _three_ locks that were in place. He grins sheepishly as Ryan slips in beside him.

“What the fuck is going on?” Ryan hisses quietly.

Gavin giggles nervously. “Did you see the picture?”

Ryan blinks at him. “No?” He whispers. It strikes Gavin that he’s whispering because he thinks the target is still alive. Ryan opens his phone and shows Gavin their texts; there’s no picture in sight. Gavin frowns and pulls out his own phone. The picture is in their messages, sure, but underneath it is a little caption, _message not sent_.

_Goddammit_.

Gavin stares at the ceiling and groans, making Ryan jump at the noise. “The target brought a partner home,” he explains, “I shot them both. It should be easy enough to dispose of, but _Ryan_,” he says, whining, “they’re _naked_, Ryan!”

Ryan stares at him for the longest ten seconds of Gavin’s life before bursting out laughing. “Oh my _god_, Gav,” he wheezes, “you burst in on your target having sex and then shot them_ both?!_” Ryan laughs so hard he curls in on himself, helpless little giggles streaming out of his mouth.

Gavin throws his hands up in the air with a muttered curse. “I offered you _pizza_!” He says, feigning hurt. He stomps back to the kitchen.

Still giggling, Ryan follows him. “Thank you very much for offering me stolen pizza,” he says, dry as a desert. And then, “Ooh, meat lover’s!”

Predictable.

“There’s no soda other than Pepsi,” Gavin says by way of apology, and hands Ryan a plate, “sorry.”

Ryan gasps. “What a monster! Thank goodness you took her out.” Gavin snickers around a mouthful of pizza.

They devour the pizza in minutes. And Gavin wishes he could say it’s the weirdest date he’s ever been on, but it’s not even the weirdest date he’s been on _with Ryan_. This kind of thing is rather average for them. When they’re done with the pizza, they do the dishes and set to deal with the bodies. It’s not the easiest body disposal Gavin’s ever dealt with, nakedness aside—they’d bled all over the bed, and there’s no way they can leave the scene as-is and make it look like an accident.

“It’s not often two people die of gunshot wounds while having sex,” as Ryan says at one point, standing over the bed with his hands on his hips, looking disappointed with the world.

Gavin absolutely takes a selfie with Ryan standing like that, the bodies partly in the background, Gavin grinning for the camera this time because it’s pretty damn funny. He can’t stop giggling at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Ryan somehow remains oblivious to the whole thing.

They get the bodies out of the apartment via the little window Gavin entered from to begin with, careful to cover them both with blankets, and they get them into the covered back of Ryan’s truck. Gavin goes back to tidy up the apartment; he strips the bed, immensely thankful that a mattress cover prevented blood from staining the mattress. He takes the bloodied bed coverings with him, but leaves a stack of fresh covers to make it look like it was laundry day or something. He locks the door, turns off the lights, wipes down anywhere that would have had their fingerprints, and bails through the window, closing it behind him.

“Not your cleanest hit,” Ryan observes as he drives them away from the apartment.

Gavin doesn’t reply immediately, too immersed in his phone. His second selfie hadn’t sent to Ryan, _again_. “What is it with your phone never getting my pictures?” He asks, annoyed.

Ryan shrugs. “I dunno. Meg complains about it, too. For some reason, my text messaging app just doesn’t like accepting your guys’ pictures.”

Well make a snapchat or something, then,” Gavin says, “I want to send you my damn murder selfies!”

Ryan gives him the most deadpan look Gavin’s ever seen, and that’s saying something.

“What?” Gavin demands, miffed. “They’re good selfies!”

Ryan just sighs heavily and fishes his phone out of his pocket. “I don’t even have a snapchat,” he mutters.

Gavin snatches the phone out of his hands triumphantly. Ryan doesn’t usually give in so easily. “You do now,” he says, even though he hasn’t even installed the app yet. This is going to be _fun_.

* * *

Michael whoops loudly as Ray finally manages to snag the heist-mobile with the cargobob’s hook. Everyone cheers as the car is lifted into the air. Jack takes her hands off the wheel and high fives the three of them.

“Take us outta here,” Geoff yells at Ray, and the car lurches as he barrels forward.

Gavin laughs, obviously keyed up on adrenaline, and whips his phone out. “Selfie!” He cries, waving his phone. Michael rolls his eyes, but obliges. He, Jack, and Geoff cram together so that Gavin can catch them in the background. “They’re gonna love this one,” he mutters under his breath.

“So the Vagabond’s name is Ryan?” Jack asks.

Gavin hums affirmative, fingers flying as he taps out a caption.

Geoff trades a glance with Michael. “You and the Vagabond _dated?”_ He blurts.

Gavin’s fingers pause and he looks up at them with furrowed brows. “You knew I was into him?” He says instead.

“Well, yeah,” Michael says slowly, “it’s kind of obvious that you’re pining for the guy. But you went on _dates_ with him? _Date_ dates?”

Gavin has the gall to look offended. “Well, yeah,” he says, mouth pulling into a frown, “we went on dates like that one all the time.”

“That’s not…Gavin, do you even know what dating is?” Jack demands, half laughing, half incredulous.

Michael bursts out laughing when Gavin squawks something unintelligible back at her. Fucking hell, this _crew_. Fucking hell.


	2. Backup Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who nearly forgot to post this?
> 
> I'm realizing these chapters are short. I divided this fic into 4 chapters based on distinct story-lines, not based on word count like I often do. So each chapter has a count of a little over 2k words. Would anyone prefer I update twice a week to make up for it? I have the whole thing written, so that's something I could do. Let me know! <3

Geoff’s a damn good strategist, Michael thinks as he looks over the plans drawn on the whiteboard. The Fakes might have the strangest, most bizarre plans out of all the crews in the city, but no one would insinuate that Geoff isn’t brilliant. He knows how to pull something off, how to deal with the cops, and how to get his crew home alive at the end. It’s part of what drew Michael to this crew—no one gets left behind. Also, they make good money and have fun doing it.

But this heist just isn’t something they can reasonably pull off. Going for the Maze Bank is moronic under optimal conditions; in broad daylight on a weekend is _suicide_. There’s just no way they can deal with the sheer number of cops they’ll be dealing with, especially if heavier duty SWAT teams come in. Jack is the one to point this out, and the whole team is in agreement.

This heist is just one that they’ll have to sit on until the Fakes have more numbers capable of backing them up.

“I know a guy,” Gavin says out of the blue, just when Michael thought they were wrapping up, Geoff heading back to the metaphorical drawing board. “If all we need is to deal with the LSPD, I know a guy. I could get you a discount on his price.”

Geoff and Jack trade a long look. Michael’s at first dubious, but Gavin has never, _ever_ failed them before. He trusts him.

“What’s your guy’s price?” Geoff asks slowly. Michael understands his hesitance—the Fakes aren’t rich, not yet. They only have two tanks, the first belonging to Michael, the second to Ray. They’re wealthy enough to have plenty of ammo secured (except for Gavin, who still spends all his hard-earned heist money on clothes and golden accessories), but they don’t have much in the way of heavy weapons. Besides that, the Fakes as a whole number under a dozen; they can’t afford to pay constant support or mercenaries.

Gavin winces. “It’s steep,” he admits, “I’m not sure exactly how much of a discount it’ll be. How about this—it can come out of my share of the heist?”

It’s a bold offer. If they don’t pull this off, Gavin won’t lose any money, but if they do, Gavin might not make a dime. Geoff looks back to the whiteboard and the estimated number of forces they anticipated, and Michael follows his gaze. It’s not a pretty number by any means. Michael watches him, silently, and can see the moment he makes his decision.

“Alright,” he says. He folds up the map he’d drawn on and hands it to Gavin. “Since you’re getting us the discount, I’ll let you hand this to them. Make sure they know the plan, where to be, when to be there, all that jazz. I trust you.” Geoff nods and turns back to the whiteboard to scribble notes.

Michael wonders why Geoff bothered with the ambiguous pronouns. They all know it’s going to be the Vagabond. What other mercenaries with high prices does Gavin know? He supposes it doesn’t matter, though.

The Vagabond is a goddamn _legend_. And while the Vagabond is certainly not someone you’d _wish_ to see, there’s something awe-inspiring about witnessing his chaos and destruction, or happening upon one of his murders. Michael might shit his pants every time they cross too close to the Vagabond, but it’s _awesome_ at the same time. And now they’re going to work_ with_ him?

This heist is going to be quite something to look forward to, Michael thinks, grinning.

* * *

The heist goes to shit in record time.

Michael curses as he ducks behind the teller’s station, reloading his rifle. If Gavin’s _guy_ doesn’t show up soon, he is going to _throttle_ Gavin. That is, if he lives long enough to do so. It’s iffy at this point.

They’re surrounded. The LSPD swarmed them in droves, someone having pulled the alarm. They got the money, though, one _hell_ of a score that Michael dearly wishes to keep. The take is divided between his, Jack’s, and Geoff’s bags, with Gavin and Ray’s bags being decoys. There are like ten different contingency plans they could use right now, and Michael’s not entirely sure which one they’re going with yet. Things are still chaotic as hell.

“Who has the rocket launcher?!” Michael screams, because there are nearly twenty cop cars that they could blow up _real_ easy, all lined up in front. They need to do _something_ to take out the cover the LSPD are using to shoot them from behind.

“I do!” Ray yells back, “I can’t get a line of sight on them! Every time I move, I get shot at!”

It’s quickly becoming a FUBAR situation, Michael thinks. He and Gavin are pinned down together behind the teller’s station. Geoff is stuck in an unfortunate spot by the front door, hiding under one of the windows. Jack and Ray are still in the vault, unable to leave without getting turned into swiss cheese. Michael looks around desperately for _anything_ that could help them.

“Gavin and I might be able to sneak out the back,” he says, “if someone wants to turn their attention elsewhere. Gav, stay _low_.”

Geoff sticks his gun up and blindly fires out the window above him. Bullets pepper the windowsill and the wall across from it, Geoff flinching back down, but it buys Michael and Gavin enough time to sneak away from the chaos and into the back corridors. They don’t dare speak, not when their position is so tenuous, but they move quickly and surely towards one of the emergency exits. The alarms are already ringing—it’s not like they can make it worse.

They make it outside without any trouble, the LSPD thankfully focused on the front door so far, and Michael wishes they’d parked the heist vehicle on this side of the bank. Things weren’t supposed to go to shit so quickly. He’s a little angry at Gavin, to be honest, that his _guy_ hasn’t shown up yet, but there’s nothing to be done. They peek around the corner at the line of cop cars holding the fort at the front doors to the bank.

“Fuck,” Michael mutters, “wish I’d grabbed the rocket launcher. I don’t even know what to _do_. We have to get the LSPD’s attention somehow, though.” They have sticky bombs, sure, but that’ll only get them so far. Besides, they have to be close to use stickies, and there’s no way either of them could approach without getting gunned down.

Just when Michael despairs, he hears a car gun its engine, backfiring loudly. The denizens of Los Santos aren’t dumb enough to drive around the scene of a bank robbery, not with a million trigger-happy police officers swarming the scene, so the sound instantly has Michael’s attention. He and Gavin both turn to look behind them, just in time to see a black supercar crest the hill and barrel towards them, towards the line of police cars down the street.

“Yes!” Gavin cheers, pumping his fist into the air, “he’s here!”

He sure is. Michael watches in awe as the Zentorno sails past them and slams into an unfortunate officer in the road. The Zentorno speeds between the line of police cars and the bank, sending officers diving out of the way to avoid getting crushed, and screeches to a stop on the other side of the bank.

Well. That’s _one_ way to get their attention.

“Now!” Michael screams, infinitely grateful when Ray seizes advantage and blows the line of cars to smithereens with the rocket launcher.

“Go, go, go!” Geoff yells over comms, “get out of here! To the heist vehicle!”

Michael gets his gun out and shoots the officers that survived the Zentorno and the explosions, sprinting and shooting on his way to the heist vehicle. He can hear Gavin running behind him, his golden pistol clicking. “I’ve got no ammo!” Gavin cries, and Michael cackles. _Of course_ the moron forgot ammo on the biggest heist they’ve ever pulled.

The heist vehicle barrels out from the far side of the bank, and Michael makes a wild dive to catch the handles on the outside. Gavin gets no such luck, however; Jack floors it to avoid getting shot in the face, screaming all the while.

“We’ll come back around!” Geoff yells, “Just get to cover! Michael, covering fire!”

Ray leans out of the car to shoot another rocket at the line of flaming cars, sending debris flying every which way, buying Gavin some time. Michael hangs onto the heist vehicle for dear life with one hand and sprays wildly with his rifle with the other. He’s never been the most accurate with one hand, but he’ll sure as hell get some cover fire for Gavin.

“Don’t worry about it!” Gavin yells back, “I’m hitching a ride!”

The Zentorno’s engine revs, as if on cue, and Michael swivels around to watch the supercar screech to a stop a few feet from Gavin, who books it into the passenger seat. And Michael would be worried, under normal circumstances, but all he can muster is relief at Gavin being safe.

Geoff clearly is not on the same page. “What the fuck does _that_ mean?!” He demands, voice climbing several octaves.

Michael sprays another magazine into a nearby cop car. “The Vagabond picked him up!” He yells, “drive the fuck away before we get fucking killed, Jack!”

“What do you _mean_, the Vagabond picked him up?” Geoff screams, “He got into his car?!”

Michael’s back to cackling, partly because Jack ran over an officer with a satisfying _th-thump_, but mostly because of Geoff’s indignant screaming. “Yes!” Michael says, “He was getting shot at! Give him a break!”

“I’m fine!” Gavin laughs over comms, “we’re already almost clear! We’re faster than the heist vehicle.”

“Well fuck you, too!” Jack yells, but she turns and heads steadily away from the chaos behind them. Michael shuffles backwards a touch, just enough for Ray to prop open the door for him, and he slides into the car. He takes a deep breath. All they’ve gotta do now is lose the cops. Easy peasy, with Jack driving.

Gavin laughs again. “I’ll send you all selfies!” He promises, like that makes up for getting separated. Michael cackles as Geoff facepalms hard enough to leave a mark on his forehead. “I’m not sure we should head back to the penthouse in this car,” Gavin continues. “I’ll meet up with you again later, promise. ‘s not like I have the money on me, anyways.”

Geoff clearly wants to protest, but he thinks better of it before opening his mouth. Gavin has a point, anyways—it’s bad enough that the Vagabond showed up with his signature car and rescued Gavin in broad daylight. Driving his vehicle to the Fakes’ penthouse is probably more of a connection than he wants to have with their dinky little crew.

Michael switches off his comm. “Gavin knows him,” he says, because he feels it needs to be said out loud. “They were good friends, once. They used to date. They’re something close to good friends again, now. He’s not gonna murder Gavin, especially not when we have his part of the loot with us.”

Geoff grimaces. He switches his comm off, too. “You’re not wrong,” he says quietly. Jack takes a hand off the wheel to squeeze his forearm briefly, crashing into a light post as she does, but it steadies Geoff enough to make his decision. He clicks the comm back on. “He can have his share after he brings you back safely,” he says firmly. “No arguments.”

“Aw, Geoff,” Gavin coos. “Are you _worried_ about me, Geoff?”

Geoff pounds the center console with his fist, angry and annoyed and frustrated beyond words. The rest of the car bursts into laughter, Ray collapsing into himself with the force of it. Jack takes out another light post, wiping tears from her eyes.

Michael very clearly hears a laugh he _doesn’t_ recognize over the comms, and it takes a moment to realize that the _Vagabond_ is laughing at Geoff’s expense. Geoff must realize this, too, because he pounds the center console again, several times. Gavin’s lucky his _guy_ saved their asses on the heist, otherwise Geoff would tear him a new asshole.

And Michael gets a glorious selfie, later, one that he stares at for a solid minute before proclaiming that he wants it framed and on his wall. It’s in the Zentorno, Gavin in the forefront grinning widely, dust and ash in his hair from Ray’s explosions. The Vagabond is in the background, decked out in his usual jacket and facepaint, focused on the road, lips quirked up into a little grin. The windows are blurred from motion, but the two of them are nicely in focus. Michael can even see a scar along the Vagabond’s temple, stretching into his hairline.

“Huh,” Geoff says when he sees it, after his temper has calmed down enough to appreciate it. “He looks like he’s enjoying himself.”

Michael isn’t entirely sure which he means. “Both of them do,” he agrees. “And we all did,” he adds.

Today’s heist was _fun_.


	3. Starbucks Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's update is normal; the next chapter will appear tomorrow to make up for the shortness of the last three. (next time I end up with short chapters I'll post two a week or be smarter about combining them)
> 
> So keep an eye out for an update in ~24 hours!

“How did you meet the Vagabond to begin with?” Jack asks out of the blue.

Michael is immediately intrigued. There hasn’t been any new information about the Vagabond since the big heist. Gavin had come home two days later in a stolen car, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. And Michael doesn’t know exactly how much he paid the Vagabond, but he knows it was a lot and that Gavin didn’t seem to mind all that much. Which is weird, because Gavin’s about as materialistic as they come. Thousand-dollar gold sunglasses, and all.

Gavin groans, bringing Michael back to the present. He can’t exactly blame Gavin for his reluctance; they’re all _comfortable_, for lack of a better word, licking their wounds after a disastrous job the night before. The five of them are strewn about the penthouse living room in various states of undress because no one bothered to tug more clothes than strictly necessary over their bandages. Most of them are in too much pain to do much other than lay there, but there isn’t anything besides shitty daytime TV to stave off boredom.

“It’s a long story,” Gavin says.

_Good_, Michael thinks, they could all use a long story do distract them. Gavin seems to realize that a long story is exactly what Jack asked for, and he groans again.

“It was when I first came to Liberty City,” he says. “On an early job, I was watching this target…”

* * *

Gavin settles into a booth in the back, curling over his coffee for warmth. Starbucks isn’t terribly busy yet, thankfully, affording him a spot in the corner where he can watch people easily. His gaze sweeps over the other customers briefly. There’s a mother and her two children, the three of them squabbling over muffin flavors. A man in a big winter coat and a thick beanie sits hunched over a coffee in the corner opposite Gavin. Two college-age girls chat animatedly by the window, writing notes on a laptop.

Gavin leans back and takes a deep breath, enjoying the smell of baked goods and warm coffee. He doesn’t frequent Starbucks, but he enjoys the smell and taste of coffee enough to be content. He glances out the window and smirks as his target rushes by him, clearly trying to get out of the rain. The man comes inside and brushes water off his coat before getting in line to order. Gavin keeps an eye on him, careful not to be too obvious.

The man is in his late fifties somewhere, greying and balding slightly. He wears a dark grey coat over a purple dress shirt and black slacks. And he doesn’t look overly fancy or dolled up, but Gavin knows for a fact that he’s _rich_. Gavin couldn’t care less what the man’s guilty of, but he knows the man is rich and living in an apartment _far_ below his pay grade. He’d moved suddenly and without warning.

This is all information obtained from Gavin’s contact. Gavin’s job is to steal a great deal of money from him. He’s a thief, through and through; he _can_ do assassination jobs, but he’d rather not bloody his hands so soon after arriving in America. It’s just better to lay low for a while, do some work in the shadows, keep his hands dry.

The man in the big coat in the corner gets up, tossing his cup in the trash on the way out. Gavin bites his lip. He was _going_ to get up, but two people getting up at the same time would just look suspicious. He’d planned on observing his target up close in the Starbucks he frequents every morning before tailing him to his new apartment a few blocks over, watching to see if he interacts with anyone on the way, or if anyone else follows him. He should have left a little earlier.

Thankfully his target’s coffee takes a while, leaving Gavin enough time to get out and find a dry spot outside to wait without looking suspicious. His target steps outside a few moments later, and Gavin waits for him to pass before tailing him carefully. He follows his target a few blocks over until he reaches a dingy old brick apartment building. Gavin has no way of knowing which side of the building the man lives on, so he decides to find a spot where he can see the door. There’s a little alley on the left side of the building that should suffice, and there’s even a convenience store on the other side of the alley from the apartment.

Perfect.

Gavin ducks into the convenience store and buys a pack of cigarettes, keeping watch on the apartment out of the corner of his eye. He heads outside again, content to look like he’s taking a smoke break and smoke the world’s longest cigarette, and almost stops short at what he sees.

The guy in the giant coat from Starbucks leans against the wall, smoking a cigarette.

Gavin’s already committed to take a smoke break, though, and now he’s paused mid-step in front of the convenience store. He can’t afford to look suspicious here, so he marches forward and shoots the guy a winning smile. “You look cozy,” he says, fumbling his lighter in between cold hands.

The guy does a double take and gives him a quick once-over that has Gavin unsure if the guy is sizing him up or appraising his looks. It’s Liberty City; could go either way.

“I’m fucking freezing,” the guy admits after a beat.

Gavin bursts out laughing, startled. “You’ve got the biggest coat in the world on,” he says, protesting, “and a big, fluffy beanie. How can you be _cold?”_

The guy takes a drag of his cigarette and coughs a little, cheeks and ears red from the cold and embarrassment. “I’m not from Liberty City,” he mutters.

Gavin hums agreement. His accent is different than the nasally cadence he’s becoming used to from the people here. It’s deeper, something soft in the way he says things. He’s not familiar enough with American accents to pick out exactly where the guy is from, though, and he’s not about to ask.

“I’m from the UK,” Gavin offers, because his accent gives him away anyways, “so I’m pretty used to the cold. You get used to it after a while.”

The guy sniffles and shrugs. “I sure hope so,” he says, “or I’m getting the hell out of here.”

Gavin laughs again. “Apparently it’s much warmer here in the summer,” he says, “there’s hope for you, yet.”

The guy chuckles, and Gavin can’t help smiling back. The guy’s not bad on the eyes, and he’s kind enough to humor Gavin’s horrible attempt at small talk, but it’d be great if Gavin could observe the building in front of him…_without_ looking totally suspicious. He resolves to wait the guy out.

And he’s immensely frustrated when the guy _lights another bloody cigarette_ instead of leaving. Gavin lights another one, too, out of spite. He’s not used to chain-smoking, though, and he’s not sure if he can stand to light a third if the guy doesn’t _leave_.

Gavin keeps his eye away from the guy next to him, instead calmly watching traffic go by. No one enters the apartment building. He’s almost through his second cigarette and beginning to despair when the guy next to him sucks in a breath. Gavin sneaks a look at him.

But the guy isn’t looking at him; he’s looking up at the apartment building, at a room on the back corner, where a curtain opens and closes several times. It could almost be mistaken for someone fighting with the curtains, but the movement is too even and exact to not be deliberate. Gavin sees movement out of the corner of his eye and looks over at the traffic again. Sure enough, someone crosses the street quickly, hood down low over his face, and enters the apartment.

The guy next to Gavin stubs his cigarette on the wall of the convenience store behind him and smiles at Gavin. “I’m off,” he says cheerfully, “see you around!”

Gavin waves at him, stubbing his own cigarette out after he leaves, but he sits there in stunned silence for a few moments.

What the hell just _happened_?

* * *

“You took the world’s most awkward smoke break with the Vagabond?” Ray laughs, “Jesus _Christ_, this is something out of a rom-com.”

Michael’s laughing, too, arm curled over his broken ribs in pain. “Gavin,” he gasps out, “you _do_ realize that nobody on the East Coast does small talk, right?”

He can’t see Gavin from where he’s laying, but he sees the middle finger he raises at him. “I told you I was new to Liberty City!” Gavin protests, “I figured that out later!”

“You almost blew your fucking cover by making small talk,” Michael laughs, “fucking idiot!”

Gavin huffs. “He wasn’t from Liberty City, either,” he points out, “so ‘s not like it mattered.”

“You got lucky,” Michael says.

“I did,” Gavin agrees, and Michael rolls his eyes at the grin in his voice. “But then I got even luckier…”

* * *

Gavin’s _so_ glad he knows how to quit cigarettes, having quit the addiction before, because he’s gotten roped into taking a bloody smoke break every day against the cold brick of the convenience store, standing next to the guy from Starbucks. He keeps calling him the guy from Starbucks, too, because the guy _keeps showing up to the same Starbucks_. It’s weird. It’s a little creepy that they’re doing the same thing, Gavin muses, but not creepy enough to put him off. He’s got a good sum of money riding on this job, and now he has the benefit of having a hunch as to where his target lives. He’s going to observe the hooded man that often enters the apartment minutes after his target, keep an eye on the building from several vantage points throughout the day, and he’s going to steal everything his target has.

Honestly, the most difficult part is navigating the twenty minutes or so that his smoke break lasts. Starbucks guy is sweet, but awkward as hell, and neither of them are particularly great at keeping up the small talk. The most Gavin ever gets him to talk is one occasion in which he brings up Halo, and it’s like a dam breaks. They both practically gush over the game, to the point where Gavin almost misses the man who leans against the wall opposite them to smoke. Gavin’s cigarette has long since burnt out, and so has Starbucks guy’s, but they’re still animatedly chatting about Halo.

The man’s staring at them, though, enough to make the guy next to Gavin uncomfortable. “Can I help you?” Starbucks guy asks.

The man shrugs. “Never seen such a long or chatty smoke break in my life,” he says, taking a drag of his own cigarette.

Gavin and Starbucks guy look down at their burnt-out cigarettes in tandem. Gavin shrugs a little sheepishly. “Bum bait,” he says by way of explanation, because that is _absolutely_ what they’d been talking about moments before, but the man doesn’t like the answer.

“Get the fuck out of here before I call the cops,” the man says, “you take a smoke break every day in a no-loitering zone. Fuck off.”

Starbucks guy flips him off and flicks his cigarette butt at him, but heads out with a nod at Gavin. Gavin, for his part, has to fight to keep his cheeks from burning. He’s pretty sure this is the hooded man who enters his target’s building every day, but he can’t be entirely sure, and the failure to successfully tail his target stings. He’ll just have to find a new vantage point, which isn’t the end of the world, but it’s frustrating and embarrassing all the same. It feels like amateur hour. Gavin walks away without a word, shoulders hunched against the rain.

The weather takes a turn for the worse, changing from rain to sleet to snow, so Gavin starts looking for indoor places in view of the apartment. He scores big when he finds a multi-story public library several blocks away that has a decent view of the apartment out of a couple windows. He can’t see the target’s window and the front door at once, unfortunately, but it’s better to shift between windows every couple hours than it is to take the world’s most awkward smoke break for twenty minutes.

That is, until Starbucks guy shows up at the _library_, too.

Bloody hell. Gavin sighs miserably. The guy takes a spot near the windows to read _Hamlet_, and Gavin would be annoyed if it wasn’t so damn funny. Here’s some random bloke throwing a wrench in his plans, all because they happen to cross paths most days. To be fair, Starbucks guy only shows up to the library Monday-Wednesday-Friday, so Gavin’s free to rocket back and forth between windows on the days he’s not around. But still, it’s a little annoying to have to sit at _one_ window half the day when Starbucks guy is around.

Starbucks guy only ever acknowledges him with a wave, thankfully, so there’s no more awkward small talk involved, although Gavin would have liked to exchange gamertags at some point. And maybe get his number, because he’ll admit it: Starbucks guy is one hundred percent his type. He’s got pretty blue eyes, wheat blond hair, and enough of a beard to sharpen his cheeks without looking scruffy. Gavin finds his eye drawn to Starbucks guy almost as often as he keeps an eye out the window, and it really isn’t helping his surveillance, but _sue him_. Starbucks guy is cute.

* * *

“Can you _not_ wax poetic about your crush,” Geoff pleads, “I don’t want to hear it. Please, for the love of _god_ I don’t want to hear it.”

Gavin squawks, affronted. “I was not _waxing poetic_,” he protests, “I was just explaining! It’s important for the next part of the story!”

Geoff groans loudly. “If you fucked him, I don’t want to hear it.” Gavin squawks again, and Michael has to bite his knuckles to keep from laughing. “I know this is your rom-com and all, but _please_ don’t describe that to me.”

Jack’s in reach of both Geoff and Gavin; she sits up and pats both of them placatingly. “Okay, boys, that’s enough. What happened next, Gavin?”

Gavin huffs loudly, but he continues, and Michael settles further into the couch. This is going to be _good_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And I apologize for the wonky update schedule and short chapters.


	4. Gavin's Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm sorry for the wonky chapters! I'll try to be more conscious of chapter length from now on. Lesson learned!

Gavin’s finally got enough information to hit his target. His contact had come through with some information on the man who drove him and Starbucks guy away; it’s his target’s bodyguard, and he’d been tailing Gavin ever since he showed up to the Starbucks. When Gavin switched up his vantage point to somewhere farther away, he lost his tail and the bodyguard left him alone, apparently content at having done his job. The bodyguard shows up to the apartment shortly after seven-thirty every morning, just a few minutes after the target arrives. They both leave together for lunch just after noon, arriving back at the apartment by one-thirty. This leaves Gavin a little over an hour to get in, steal anything and everything of value, and get out.

It’s easy, really. Gavin gets up to the room via the fire escape, pries the window open, and heads to the bedroom. He’d gotten blueprints of the apartment building days before and has been studying them well enough to know all the escape routes and any potential places to hide safes or other goodies. The bedroom closet is his best bet; it’s the only closet large enough to hide a safe other than the linen cabinet, but the linen cabinet doesn’t have a lockable door.

The bedroom, on the other hand, is locked when Gavin reaches it. He picks the lock easily and slips inside, eyes roving over the bedroom quickly. There’s not much of value besides a couple of watches on the dresser; he pockets those and turns his attention to the closet. The closet doesn’t have a lock, but the safe does, and so he slides the closet door open to reveal—

—Starbucks guy?

Gavin blinks.

Starbucks guy blinks back at him.

They stare at each other for several seconds, startled, before Starbucks guy blurts, “What the _fuck?!”_

Gavin reels back a little, hand itching to reach towards his gun. “Uhhh,” he manages, “what are you doing here?”

Starbucks guy squints at him. “I asked you _first_,” he hisses, then stops short. He looks Gavin up and down, taking in his dark clothing, the gun tucked into his waistband, and the empty backpack slung over his shoulders. “Did…did you _break in_ here?”

Gavin scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yes?” He says, thoroughly confused. Starbucks guy is dressed nicely in a dress shirt and khakis, but Gavin can tell by the bulk of his shirt that he’s got a vest underneath. The man came here expecting a fight. “How did you get in here?”

“I came in through the bathroom window,” Starbucks guy admits, “he smokes a joint in the bathroom some nights. All I had to do was stick a card in the window so it wouldn’t close properly. How the fuck did _you_ get in here?”

Gavin scratches his chin, thoroughly on his way to laughing. “I came in through the window by the fire escape,” he says, “I got blueprints and realized the locks on those are old. I just jammed it open.”

Starbucks guy laughs incredulously. “We broke into the same place!” He says through his laughter, “I’ve never had this happen before!”

Gavin joins him in laughing. What are the odds? He looks at the safe by Starbucks guy’s leg. “Do you want to split it fifty-fifty?” He asks, because he _likes_ Starbucks guy. He doesn’t particularly want to fight over the loot.

Starbucks guy jolts and looks down at the safe, as if just realizing it’s there. “Oh!” He shakes his head, “no, I’m not here for the safe. Go for it! I’m here for the bounty.”

“The _bounty_?” Gavin echoes.

Starbucks guy cocks his head. “Yeah, the bounty.” He pauses. “Did you not know about the bounty?”

Gavin shakes his head. “I had no idea.”

“Huh,” Starbucks guy says, “that’s…huh. You know what? Go for the safe, get on outta here before he gets back.” He shrugs. “We can both get what we came here for if you get out of here on time.”

So Gavin sets to work opening the safe. It’s tricky, but it’s sure as hell not the first safe he’s ever opened, and it won’t be the last. It takes a good long time, enough that Starbucks guy gets antsy beside him, but he gets it open eventually and scoops the contents into his backpack.

Starbucks guy whistles. “Damn, that’s a lot of bills,” he says, peering over Gavin’s shoulder. “You got that thing open in short order, too.”

Gavin shrugs. “I’m a thief,” he says, grinning up at Starbucks guy. “It’s what I do.”

Starbucks guy looks surprised, though. “That’s impressive,” he says, “I can never pick locks to save my life.”

Gavin scratches the back of his head, unused to the praise. “Well to be fair, I have never been comfortable with fights,” he says, “so I’m always impressed by bounty hunters and the like.”

There’s an awkward moment where they grin at each other, but it’s shattered when they hear the sound of the front door being unlocked.

“Shit!” Gavin hisses. He looks towards the way he came. There’s no way he can get out without being seen, and normally he wouldn’t be too upset about someone seeing the back of him, but Starbucks guy is still here. He’d put him in danger.

Starbucks guy pulls Gavin by the shirt into the closet. He presses something into Gavin’s hands. “When he opens the door,” he whispers, “clock him in the head with this. _Hard_. I’ll go for the bodyguard.”

Gavin gulps, but nods. He feels around the object in his hands—it’s a little pistol, he realizes, with a suppressor on the end of it. Gavin wills his hands to steady as he hears their target move around. The target clearly knows something’s up, having seen the open door to his bedroom. He wastes no time coming into the bedroom and whipping the closet door open.

The target barely has the time to look shocked before Gavin brings the pistil down _hard_ onto his forehead. He drops like a sack of potatoes, and Starbucks guy throws something out over Gavin’s shoulder at the bodyguard, who drops his gun with a clatter and a yell of pain, hunching over. 

“Holy shit,” Gavin whispers.

Starbucks guy squeezes his shoulder and takes the pistol out of his hands. “Nice,” he says, “he’ll be out for a while. You can get on out of here; I can handle my end.”

Gavin looks over to the bodyguard, who is too busy putting pressure on a nasty wound on his hand to fight Starbucks guy. A bloodied knife and the bodyguard’s gun rest on the floor next to each other.

“You threw a _knife_ at him?” Gavin asks, incredulous.

Starbucks guy looks up from where he’s busy tying up their target. “Well I gave you my gun,” he says defensively, “I had to do _something_.”

“No, no,” Gavin says, because it’s important he clarifies, “you threw a knife at him and actually managed to _hit_ the gun out of his hand? That’s amazing!”

Starbucks guy looks down, sheepish. “I like knives,” he mutters, “I practice throwing them a lot.”

Gavin kneels down to his level. “Teach me,” he demands, “I want to learn how to do that.”

Starbucks guy looks at him thoughtfully. There’s a beat of silence. “Can I get your number?” He asks at last.

Gavin fishes out his phone with a grin. “_Absolutely_.”

* * *

“It makes sense now, why you have so many gold knives,” Ray pipes up. “I never realized.”

Gavin hums. “He _did_ teach me how to throw them, even though it took me a long time to get the hang of it. He taught me how to use other weapons, too. I hadn’t used much other than pistols before that point, and I was garbage with guns in general.”

Michael did not know this information. When Burnie first insisted they take Gavin with them, one of the selling points had been his steady aim with a range of guns. He had no clue the skill had been learned recently, possibly very shortly before Gavin started working with the Roosters.

“Is nobody gonna pay attention to the fact that the Vagabond started out as a _bounty hunter?”_ Geoff asks. “Because I’m still stuck on that. The most infamous assassin in LS started as a goddamn bounty hunter.”

Michael had sat up earlier, while Gavin was talking, so he sees the frown that crosses Gavin’s face. “He tried really hard to stay on the good side of the law,” Gavin says quietly. “But when we started working together, I kept getting him in trouble.” He looks uneasy. “I feel awful,” he admits.

Jack nudges Gavin’s leg with hers. “Why?”

Gavin fiddles with the bandages on his arm for a few moments. “When I met Ryan, he was very firm in his belief that he should stay on the good side of the law. He’d left Georgia hoping to travel the world and had a run-in with a gang that took ownership of him for a while. He found out there was a bounty on them and played the part of their rookie for just long enough, until they trusted him, and then he turned them in,” he says, looking up and out of the penthouse window. “He wanted _nothing_ to do with gangs, with the darker side of Liberty City. That gang treated him horribly, and he hated the drugs and the killing and the thefts, so he wanted to turn people like that in to the authorities.”

It’s a far cry from the Vagabond they know today. Michael would doubt they were even the same person if it weren’t for Gavin telling the story. The man does his homework on everything. If there was any real doubt on them being the same person, Gavin would have already looked into it and figured it out.

“I’m the one that kept getting him in trouble with the law,” Gavin continues. “I pushed him into a life of crime just by working with him.”

“How long did you work with him for?” Michael asks, because he feels like he’s missing something here. One job, plus teaching Gavin how to throw knives and shoot guns—it’s not a lot, unless Gavin’s leaving out information, here.

Gavin shrugs. “Two years,” he says, and that makes more sense, doesn’t it? “I used to break into the places he needed to be for his bounties, and he’d come for backup whenever I needed it. But as time went on, I started moving away from theft and into assassinations.” He smiles. “We met Meg, that way. The three of us made a great team.” The smile fades almost instantly. “But he hated assassinations. He hated my side of the jobs, even if he liked working with me. I got him into trouble more than once.”

Geoff sits up to look at Gavin better. “Was he ever upset with you?”

Gavin nods firmly. “_Oh_ yeah,” he says, “definitely. He eventually left because of it, too.”

* * *

Gavin huddles miserably on the roof of one of the skyscrapers of Liberty City. It’s his favorite hiding spot, at least when the weather is nice, because he can see everything for miles here. It’s one of the tallest buildings in the city, so hardly anyone looks down on him.

Nobody can see his misery tonight.

It’s raining buckets. Normally he’d avoid the roof when it’s raining, but he’s upset enough that he doesn’t really care. He’s soaked to the bone and shivering violently, but moving from this spot is unthinkable.

He and Ryan got into an altercation with the cops.

Normally it wouldn’t be such a big deal. Gavin gets into trouble with the LCPD all the time; he’s grown used to sweet-talking himself out of sticky situations like that. But Ryan’s only ever been on the LCPD’s good side. There’d been a shootout between Gavin and the cops today, though, after a hit gone horribly wrong, and the cops had gotten wind of Gavin’s presence right as Ryan showed up to provide backup. Ryan ended up killing a cop for the first time in his life, and while they’d both gotten away, Ryan hadn’t been wearing any kind of mask. The LCPD recognized him.

Ryan will have to leave Liberty City because of him.

They’d built a nice little life here for themselves. They have an apartment together. They have a cat, a second car that Gavin helped pay for but never drives, a nice stash of guns and ammo and money that marks them as _different_ from the average citizen of Liberty City. Not that anyone knows that, of course, but everyone knows the names _Jester_ and _King_, aliases that have served them both well in the criminal underground.

Gavin sniffles and chokes on a sob. He’s gone and ruined it. The drive home had been tense and angry, neither of them saying a word. Once they were behind doors, the yelling started. Neither of them are particularly _calm_ individuals, especially not when provoked, and even joking arguments between them tend to get loud and out of hand. _Real_ arguments are so much worse, Gavin thinks miserably. He’d stormed out eventually, unable to stand the yelling and the horrible pain of a breakup, and he’d practically run to his favorite hiding spot.

Ryan comes up to see him eventually.

“I got an offer,” he says quietly, sitting down beside Gavin, uncaring about the puddles or the rain soaking them both. “From the military, actually. Sounds like something special-ops.” Gavin looks up at him. Ryan doesn’t look angry, just resigned, a little sad, staring off into the distance. “They wouldn’t give me much information, but it sounds like they’re having trouble with something in Germany.” He looks at Gavin, finally. “They said I’d be travelling all over.”

Gavin smiles, even though it hurts, even though tears stream down his face along with the pouring rain. “You _did_ leave Georgia to see the world,” he says, voice wobbly, “I doubt you’d see much of it from a cell.”

Ryan purses his lips. “I’ve been sitting on the offer for weeks,” he admits. “I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to take it or not.” He reaches out and pries Gavin’s hand from around his leg, tangling their fingers together. “I wanted to go, but I didn’t want to leave _you_,” he says. “I still don’t, but I’m not safe here anymore. I have to leave, regardless of where I go.”

“I know,” Gavin says, squeezing his hand. Tears blur his vision. He wipes his sodden jacket across his eyes, but it’s so wet it just smears more water across his eyes. “I’m just—I’m so _sorry_.”

Ryan lets go of his hand to pull him into his arms. “I forgive you,” he says simply. “I’m sorry it has to go this way. I don’t want to leave.”

They sit there and cry together in the rain for a long time. They cry until there’s no more tears left, until only the rain runs down their cheeks.

“I got an offer, too,” Gavin says at long last, voice quiet and partially muffled by Ryan’s shoulder. “From a gang in Texas. Meg works for them now, passed on a good word about me.” He sniffles. “I’d declined it, but they want to hire me on as a thief. And they want to teach me how to hack.”

Ryan hums. “You’ve always wanted to learn how to hack. You told me it was the one skill of a thief that you hadn’t gotten the hang of yet.”

Gavin nods. “I declined so I could stay here with you.”

“You should see if the offer is still open,” Ryan says immediately, pulling back to look him in the eyes, “you’d be great for a job like that.”

Gavin sniffles. “I will,” he says shakily, “after you leave.”

And Ryan frowns, then, gets this guilty look that will haunt Gavin for years. “I’m leaving tonight,” he admits, “I can’t afford to stay around. I’m not safe here, not anymore. You need to find a new apartment, too, in case they come looking for me.”

Gavin bursts into tears all over again, lurching forward to bury his face in Ryan’s neck. He cries until Ryan has to leave, and then he cries more, alone on the rooftop. He only descends from the roof when the sky begins to lighten, not keen on being found.

He gets the worst cold, too, but he can’t spend it in bed. He contacts Meg as soon as he’s showered, books a flight to Austin when she gives him the go-ahead, and packs his bags right away. He arrives in Austin two days later sick and sore and heartbroken. Meg tuts at him when she picks him up from the airport. She calls her boss to tell him Gavin needs a couple days before he can be on the job and drives him to their headquarters just outside town.

He clutches his phone like a lifeline the whole drive there. Ryan’s contact info has been erased; he changed his number before he even left LC. But their stockpile of selfies is still there, sitting neatly in a folder on his phone labelled _Starbucks_, and it hurts to think they’re all he has left of Ryan now.

Gavin leaves the codename _Jester_ behind, along with the assassinations and thefts. Burnie and the Roosters teach him how to hack, how to manipulate, how to pull the strings from behind the action. He’ll grow into another name in time, he’s sure, but for now he’s content with being a nameless, faceless threat.

His work computer is kept carefully clean of personal effects, largely to remind him of his new role. The gaming laptop he buys with his first paycheck, though? He sets his background to a different _Starbucks_ selfie every week. Gavin moves on, but he sure as hell doesn’t forget.

* * *

“Fucking hell,” Michael mutters, getting up to sit next to Gavin and provide some kind of moral support. Regardless of whether or not Gavin and the Vagabond had been _together_ together, something like that still sucks _balls_.

Gavin knocks his knee into his. “I just felt awful,” he says again, “I couldn’t believe he was really leaving.”

“So you hadn’t heard from him since that night?” Jack asks.

Gavin shakes his head. “I’d gotten _one_ communication from him in between that night and the murder selfie,” he says. “A couple of years after I started working for the Roosters, I got this weird encrypted message on one of my phones. When I decrypted it, it just said ‘Help –King’.”

“You mentioned that name before,” Ray notes.

Gavin shrugs. “Those were our aliases; Jester and King. We chose them to match.”

“I’d heard the names before,” Geoff says slowly, “Burnie and I scouted both of them for the Roosters, but we couldn’t ever get a hold of them. Jack and I left for Los Santos before Burnie gave up, though; he must have gotten through to you.”

“Ryan wouldn’t have accepted, even if you’d offered,” Gavin says, sounding a little sad, “back then he never would have joined a gang.”

Michael’s mouth twists. It seems like quite a jump for a righteous bounty-hunter to suddenly flip a switch and become the most terrifying assassin in Los Santos. “What did he need help with?” He asks. “When he sent you the message?”

Gavin fidgets. “I never found him,” he says quietly. “I traced his message to a location in the mountains in Colorado. I told Burnie I had to help an old friend, packed my gear, and left the next day. I barely planned anything, just took a plane to the nearest airport, drove a rental out to a campground, and hiked the rest of the way. I found a burnt out, gutted building that looked military.” He hunches over, looking small and defeated. “There were no bodies. The place had been picked clean. I searched the area for _days_ and found no trace of him. I thought he’d died there.”

Well, shit. “You thought it was your fault,” Michael realizes. “You’d pushed him into a life of crime, so he left, and you thought he got killed because of it.”

“I was miserable,” Gavin admitted, “I went home to the Roosters, but I was really upset for a long time. That’s why Burnie pushed me to take jobs like Murder Boat, and to take jobs with you guys in LS. My job with the Roosters was too important and serious to cheer me up. I’m important here, too, but it’s _fun_,” he says with a shrug, “it took my mind off things.”

Well, fuck. It makes a hell of a lot of sense _why_ Gavin reacted the way he did when the Vagabond responded to his murder selfie. It must have seemed like a godsend. No _wonder_ he spent hours and hours texting him. Michael would have done the same thing in his place.

“Why’d he move to Los Santos, then?” Geoff asks. “Why start up a career as the Vagabond?”

Gavin shakes his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t gotten him to tell me what happened yet,” he says. “It must have been something pretty horrible, though, for him to change as much as he did. It’s like—” He pauses, grasping for words, “It’s like he _gave up_, or something,” he says at last. “It’s like he gave up on being the good guy.”

It certainly seems that way. And it’s not a pretty picture that Gavin paints, not by a long shot. Michael thinks he liked it better when the Vagabond was just some scary boogeyman in the dark. It’s easier to sleep at night when you think the bad guys are bad and the good guys are good. Michael wonders what the military _did_ to Gavin’s boyfriend to turn him into the Vagabond.

He thinks he might not want to know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO this is my favorite chapter in the whole fic?? This is why I wrote the fic. This chapter right here. 
> 
> Some notes on the reveals: 1) despite the ambiguity the crew (especially Geoff and Michael) use when referring to Gavin and Ryan's relationship, yes, they did date for those two years. The crew is just trying to wrap their heads around this, especially given the current lack of relationship. 2) They worked with Meg! That might end up as an entire fic of its own, if I can manage it. There's a lot of history between the three of them, and I'm excited to share it. 3) Man...what do you think happened in Colorado? There'll eventually be a story for that, too. It wasn't pretty, is what I'll say, but it leads to some interesting things for the Fake AH. How are the two things connected? Let's hope I get to that before next year...
> 
> THANK YOU so much for reading! I've got one more fic in this series ready to post, but it's not divided into chapters yet (especially after the difficulty I had with this one). We'll hope for an update this Friday, but if not, look for it the following Friday. 
> 
> Thank you! <3 <3
> 
> Edit: I LEAVE FOR FIVE DAYS AND COME BACK TO OVER TEN COMMENTS IN MY INBOX I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE AFRAID AND EXCITED ALL AT ONCE. Holy shit I love you guys, thank you for the overwhelmingly kind response <3


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